


Like Parting Grapefruit Halves

by Estivate



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: (Nonetheless the Ending is Happy), Body Worship, Breeding, Creampie, Dubious Consent, Dysfunctional Arranged Marriage, Earn Your Happy Ending, Intersex!Loki, Jotun!Loki, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Political Intrigue, Somnophilia, asshole!Thor, filthy filth, marital rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 08:20:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16909455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estivate/pseuds/Estivate
Summary: His husband nonchalantly removes every item of his outfit himself, until he is down to his small clothes, and with a featherlight stroke of his hands, parts the cloth hanging on his shoulders to spill at his feet, revealing his naked form.Thor swallows. He is sublime.“Like what you see, husband mine?”Yes. Yes, he does. Thor’s feet move him forward of their own volition to where Loki stands. His hands hold him by the waist, reaffirming that he was real and not just a vision from dreams he didn’t remember having.Their faces are so close, Thor leans in to touch with lips. Loki effortlessly evades with a turn of the head so that his mouth is near the shell of Thor’s ear. “But of course, how could you have known?”





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

He is to be wed.

 

All the eligible maidens (and some that are not) in the realm, and even many of those off it, draw their handkerchiefs and weep. Lady Tresmé especially – because she had two daughters who were just coming of age and ready to present to court that she was oh so sure would catch the Odinson’s eye. Though plenty would say that catching his eye is not the difficulty so much as keeping it.

 

Thor can concur. Enough bounce to the buxom and booze in the belly was ticket enough for a fling with the prince. So he smashes a cup on the ground and slurs for more. More of either, preferably both. Seeing as how he can still count the number of maidens in the tavern, he’s not drunk enough at the news.

 

Since refusing the marriage would be unpolitic, as well as furiously protesting at his father – he’d know after trying – Thor has to make do with what’s available.

 

A flirty red-head brings another round of drinks to the crew as Thor pulls her into his lap. She has a beauty spot near her lip and cute hair ringlets that Thor just wants to tug with his finger and make her squeal like a piglet. He leers up at her and she fans her lashes coquettishly. Her corset is so tight and stiff that her breasts are balanced atop her chest pert and firm. He tests their press by pouring some ale down her shirt and then cleaning up the spillage from her cleavage with his face.

 

Laughter fills the hall as everyone marvels at the good time their still-bachelor prince is having.

 

Who could blame him after all.

 

To be wed to a Jotun no less.

 

\---

 

The wedding is tomorrow.

 

To Thor, would that this night never end. It seems any servant girl in the palace who wants to try her luck with the Odinson’s get has come to his rooms to partake in the…bacchanalia. Two maidens – sisters – are pleasuring each other to his delight. Another two, one on each arm, accompany. An auburn brunette was nestled up against his chest, one hand keeping steady his mead cup, while the other traced circles. The second, hair a light hazel kept in a ponytail (very handy for gripping from behind) had a bowl of grapes fat as cabochon rubies that she was peeling and feeding into his mouth. Laughter and delight, along with orgiastic moans, and the scent of arousal so thick that you could bring Mjolnir to bear the weight down upon, fill his chambers.

 

Absolutely no one has any item of clothing on. Their only instructions are to get him hard as quickly as possible between rounds, and then to tend to his godhood just as urgently.

 

Some had already collapsed in a heap of supple bodies to the side, stolen away by their sleepy afterglow, his come still leaking out of their quims onto the gilded floor. He tsks, such a waste. He thinks distantly, between sips, that he might have an inheritance problem down the line should such bastards all be conceived on the same night. But then, he’s been assured that legitimate succession is not an issue. Somehow.

 

His Jotun bride is an adequate vessel for his seed that, should he decide to plant it, will grow, all biological factors considered. The thought darkens his mood and his brow becomes heavy at the thought. He was Thor Odinson: firstborn of the Golden Realm Eternal, and his lineage is to be tainted by frost giant blood.

 

No.

 

Not if this night lasts as long as it should. Not if, as inevitable, his intended is so hideous that his member will wilt at the sight and temperature drop. He thinks he will be glad of it should he be too limp to slide his shaft in, his semen too scant with weak, watery release.

 

The runt is likely deformed. Perhaps he can request a hooded copulation.

 

A strawberry blonde giggles into view, drinking from his chalice before serving him the same from her own mouth, some of it spilling from the side, which she will make sure to lap up the trails of later. Thor fills his hand with a breast for a change of texture. He squeezes and she falls into him, shooting haughty looks at the other two. He appreciates it when they show the extra initiative for his attentions.

 

What was her name again? Oh he hardly cares. But she has an excellent waist – and hips as well – of a very good child-bearing size. Nubile and enthusiastic. He likes that.

 

She uses her index finger to tip his face up towards her. “Do not despair your majesty. A union, even a royal one, can be annulled.”

 

He laughs at her cheek but indulges her. “Ah, yes. But who would believe me if I claimed impotence?” And because she has no plausible proposition to make, she greets his mouth with hers again, effectively cutting off the need to keep a conversation going. Well. That’s not what they were here for anyway. He smacks one of her buttocks to remind them of the task at hand.

 

In a few more hours, his bride will traverse the Bifrost and this life as he knows it will be done.

 

What was his name again? Logi? Lovi? Lo- something.

 

He tells them to forget the cups altogether and just pour the rest of it down his throat. One of the girls, it doesn’t even matter which one, crawls between his legs and takes him down as far as she can for her small mouth.

 

The night is still young.

 

\---

 

It’s an hour before the nuptials.

 

Thor decides to reward the servant girl who had so diligently prepared him in his regal dress by hitching up her skirts and hiking her legs up around his waist. He braces her against the wall in the final moments of his unfettered status. She receives him earnestly, suckling on his neck, laughing.

 

“Your highness, best not wrinkle the robes or scratch the ceremonial armour.” she says with a wink in her eyes.

 

“Small details.” He grunts. Thrusts up into her waiting cunt. Oh how much he’ll miss the feeling of a warm orifice. He hopes there’s something in the agreement that exempts his spouse from using frostbite on his sensitive bits. Although, if that’s not a quality they can consciously exert control over, that may be an issue.

 

“No one will notice.”

 

As if all those in attendance won’t already be looking towards their prince with pity in their eyes. What was the cursed alliance compared to some creases on the hem, or the sweaty contact of her hands on his vambraces, her hot breath fogging up the metal of the helmet?

 

He growls into the nape of her neck as he comes.

 

There’s still the better part of an hour until the ceremony.

 

\---

 

He ascends the dais like a convict towards the gallows.

 

The crowd at court is something of a mixed mood. Some expect there to be a good show at least, some hope for histrionics, some are there for the historic event it was, some are there for the splendid fashions and renovations, some look broken hearted, some flex their sword hand in expectation of a fight that will break out.

 

Everyone comes to a standstill as the large doors are opened, and the Jotun escorts bow before their small prince as he is revealed behind golden interlaced entryway. The heads of Asgardians turn – to pierce, to judge, to remember. He walks forward, unburdened by their stares and dons the weight of it like an imperial cape, dragging its train in regality.

 

He walks towards the retinue without any falter. Head high, eyes ahead, towards his groom. For a moment Thor is caught in the cognitive dissonance of the diminutive frost giant’s gait. He does not hobble like a cripple or hesitate like a blushing bride, not even so much as a waver once he reaches the steps and rises to join his financee before the Allfather. Dumbly, Thor remembers to offer his hand so they may be joined while repeating their vows. When he looks into those eyes, he realizes they are level with his.

 

That the ceremony doesn’t come to a halt means Thor must have loyally repeated his lines. Yet he does not remember moving his mouth or even hearing anything Odin said. The figure before him is dressed in the white gold frame of Asgardian ceremonial armour, yet with the royal blue robes of his own realm, decorated in the silver filigree of a pattern that looked like frost at the edge of the hems. The high collar of his dress opened to a face of cerulean, within which were eyes of the deepest red. At the moment, unbeknownst to Thor, so was the blush on his cheeks.

 

“Do you, Thor Odinson, promise to uphold the honour of the House of Laufey by uniting with its son, and dedicating yourself to a future that places his health, happiness, and liberty above all?”

 

Trance like, he vows atop of Yggdrasil’s mighty crown, “I do.”

 

“And do you, Loki Laufeyson, promise to uphold the honour of the House of Odinson by wedding with its son, and devoting yourself to a future that places his wellbeing, prosperity, and reign as paramount?”

 

Loki’s eyes flick away from Thor’s for the first time, to land on the love bite below his jaw. Silently deducing. Thor’s heart skips a beat, thinking the Jotuns may renege—

 

“I do.”

 

Two simple words. They reiterate in Thor’s head until the clapping abates. His tone seemed solemn, resigned even underneath the respectful formality.

 

There is no kiss.

 

The words themselves are enough to impart the binding enchantment its power. That doesn’t mean he didn’t wish saliva was also needed to seal the deal.

 

\---

 

If asked, Thor would say the night’s feast went rather well. He has, after all, much to look forward to in the anticipation leading up to it, shifts in his seat at some moments of the evening thinking about it.

 

His new husband does not gnaw at bones or slurp at sinew. In fact, he’s just as refined as any Vanir, as craftily spoken as the dwarves, as enticing as the light elves, elemental as the fire giants, and deserving as the Aesir. Thor can hardly spot what makes him Jotun were it not for the coloring of his skin.

 

He misses small things throughout the night as he steals glances at his spouse beside him. The way he leans his head on the back of his hand, sipping wine that stains his lips red. The way he takes in his surroundings with an air of mild intellectual curiosity. The way he sometimes gazes inside his cup in deep consideration.

 

Loki must have been tiring. It had been a long journey and a long day’s affair after all.

 

Thor missed the way the maidservant brushed up against him a little too close when she poured his drink. Missed the way one of the dancers flashed a wink. Missed the way a nobleman’s attendant tried to catch his eye.

 

Once the night strikes an appropriate hour, he instead makes a grand gesture of affection by sweeping Loki into his arms and carrying him, bridal style to their prepared chambers. He cannot see that the smile for the crowd is forced, that Loki only brings his arms around his neck apprehensively, so caught up he is in his own excitement.

 

As they cross the threshold into the bedroom however, Thor is suddenly acquainted with the fluttering feeling in his gut he’s once heard of regarded as butterflies. Loki’s head is against his torso. He seems to prefer Thor take the lead. Thor’s taken the lead plenty, but will be extra considerate for what will be Loki’s first time.

 

The evening firelight dances and flickers, coloring their figures in reds and golds.

 

He sets Loki down on his feet beside the fireplace and starts to unclasp the adornments. Fingers itching to explore.

 

“And what is it that you think you are doing?”

 

Surely Loki’s been informed on the natural progression of matrimony? His brow becomes quizzical. “We have to consummate this union.”

 

Loki only studies something in the corner of his vision. Thor suddenly feels unrefined, finding it only mildly mortifying that he’ll have to explain it.

 

Loki turns away from him then and starts to remove the gold accessories on his horns and in his hair. “I don’t think so.”

 

Then he frowns, wondering if there’s been a cultural misunderstanding between them.

 

“As per Asgardian custom –”

 

“I know your customs. Thor.”

 

Is he…being denied?

 

His husband nonchalantly removes every item of his outfit himself, until he is down to his small clothes, and with a featherlight stroke of his hands, parts the cloth hanging on his shoulders to spill at his feet, revealing his naked form.

 

Thor swallows. He is sublime.

 

“Like what you see, husband mine?”

 

Yes. Yes, he does. Thor’s feet move him forward of their own volition to where Loki stands. His hands hold him by the waist, reaffirming that he was real and not just a vision from dreams he didn’t remember having.

 

Their faces are so close, Thor leans in to touch with lips. Loki effortlessly evades with a turn of the head so that his mouth is near the shell of Thor’s ear. “But of course, how could you have known?”

 

The tongue is a rude inhabitant, choosing now to be clumsy to its host when this is where he needs words of sweet nothing the most. He finds something however, “Let me make up for my ignorance tonight, and worship you in ways you have yet to discover.”

 

The thought of Loki, sweet and ripe for the taking, from the fruit of another realm hanging heavy on the world tree. He longs to taste Jotunheim’s offerings.

 

“Then let anticipation alone fuel your appetite.” and he turns away with a toss of his luscious hair, flippantly bouncing on the bed and getting under the crisp covers.

 

Thor is left standing impossibly confused, blinking owlishly, hands perched on nothing but air.

 

After a few minutes of him processing the dismissal, he settles on stripping and joining him in bed, hands awkwardly lacing over his stomach as he lies down, straight as the guileless. Loki doesn’t even turn to look at him. Perhaps he is too tired to muster up the courage for bed play? Thor’s reputation sometimes precedes him, and Loki wouldn’t be the first virginal partner to be taut with tension.

 

Loki’s voice breaks the silence.

 

“Had you privately found me distasteful, I would have knelt at your bedside, penitent. Had you politely propositioned, I would have taken another form that pleased you. Instead, you have humiliated me in every way.”

 

The revelation stuns Thor into submission.

 

He stares blankly at the ceiling, awake long after Loki’s breathing evened out. His new husband’s presence is like a block of ice beside him.

 

\---

 

For once, Thor is absolutely clueless about how to remedy the situation. It was the first time where his recklessness could not be excused in hindsight or downplayed by his charisma the way it so often did in all the other instances when he got into trouble.

 

Loki does not spurn him publicly. Does not take his anger out on Thor in ways that will dissipate the strain. If he would just shout at Thor, strike him…

 

It has been a week and nightly they are not any more intimate than the first. It’s such silent agony that Thor thinks he might lose his self-control. Starts to worry about what he might do in his sleep – but he cannot further exacerbate the issue by seeking an affair or sneaking a tryst.

 

But he desires release terribly. Each evening with Loki out of reach is part of the punishment.

 

\---

 

So it goes on.

 

A month passes.

 

\---

 

He brings it up again on a morning with Loki trying on new earrings in the mirror, getting dressed in outfits that will haunt Thor’s imagination at the negotiation table, have him hard with pent up arousal at the baths, keep him extra aggressive at the training grounds. They always showed quite a stretch of leg, or a tasteful hint of the collarbone, or the flash of the wrist.

 

Thor slowly surrenders his mind to Loki’s torture.

 

When he is sitting at the desk, writing letters in a graceful hand, he thinks of holding them with his broad ones or binding them with silk sheets. When he does his hair or pulls it over a shoulder, Thor agonizes over what it’d be like to brush it out of his face or grip it as he pulls harder to grant access to more neck. When Loki sighs over the small items for his delectation Thor brings, he desires to hear his name breathed out loud the same way.

 

He waves away the carnelian drop earrings for the garnet chandelier pair. They accentuate his neck, emphasizing what was bloody off limits. Thor doesn’t even have long nails and yet he finds more often than not crescent shaped indents in his palms.

 

He places them, hesitantly, on Loki’s shoulders. Their eyes meet in the glass surface.

 

“We have to consummate this marriage eventually.”

 

“I was thinking the same, dearest.”

 

Thor stammers, hardly able to believe it “T-truly?”

 

“Allow me to take a lover, and I will grant you an heir. Once I have given Asgard what it requires, you may keep a consort of your own as well.”

 

Perhaps he had been foolish for holding out such hopes. But it’s in the aftermath of those words does he comprehend how long Loki can hold a grudge.

 

A new wave of anger washes over him – at himself for his previous stupidity, at Loki for his sheer stubbornness – and he has Loki up to twist him around to face him. It’s only matched by Loki’s own cold rage emanating like subzero.

 

“Are you mad? I’ll admit that our marriage has not had the most auspicious of beginnings, but can’t you meet me half way instead of posing this _scandal_.”

 

“The _scandal_ was already done by the eve of our wedding when you invited all of Asgard’s whores to sample your cock, and then the day of, thinking to have me do the same when their stench had not even left the rooms and their lip paint cleaned off the base of your prick.”

 

The response comes like a snakebite at the hand offered in cooperation. Loki is not yet finished.

 

“I hope they are all as barren as the grave or that your seer mother has the foresight to send a dispatch of servants to deliver and supervise abortifacient draughts.”

 

Thor starts to see red, and not just because he’s glaring into Loki’s eyes. He throws him down. Loki catches himself on his arms and his shoulders shake with muffled laughter. He brings his face back up to sneer.

 

The dark part of him that doesn’t know how much longer he can put up with this, the brute conqueror, thinks it would be so easy…so terribly easy if he held Loki down and took him by force right here and now.

 

He turns on his heel and leaves before it can be realized.

 

\---

 

Another moon’s cycle passes.

 

\---

 

And then something curious happens.

 

Loki is imbibing an inordinately large amount of their heaviest wine one night during dinner.

 

He shooed away the inconvenience of a servant and had a stout carafe of it planted beside so that he could refill himself. Thor could drink his father’s personal cask rooms dry, but Loki doesn’t possess the same constitution. Of all the things Thor thought Loki would take him up on, an unspoken drinking contest wasn’t one of them. Though sitting beside him, he watches warily out of the corner of his eye.

 

After the thirteenth cup, Loki hiccups.

 

The sound was almost cute, if not alarming. Thor’s eyes widen over the rim of his own.

 

When he sets down his drink, Thor’s hand gently catches on his wrist. There’s an extended pause. Thor can feel the pulse right against his thumb and is glad that Loki chose not to wear any bracelets tonight that may have gotten in the way.

 

Loki swats his hand away and reaches for the carafe. Thor snatches it out of reach. “You’re drunk.”

 

“Everyone else is as well. Asgardians seem to believe inebriation brings them closer to Valhalla.”

 

“That may be, but it’d be a shame if you entered the halls so young.”

 

“Hmph.” He shoots up, wobbly.

 

“Then I shall retire. There is nothing more to be had here.”

 

Thor makes to rise from his seat as well, “Let me escort you.”

 

“Don’t.”

 

The tone of his voice left no room for argument and promised pain for those who tried. Thor’s shoulders slump in being brushed-off. Once again, left out in the cold.

 

\---

 

He gives it a few moments before following, treading covertly through his own hallways after Loki. Despite what some may think of his stature, Thor was capable of stealth when he has need for it. Thankfully he doesn’t find Loki suddenly passed out against a column, or any sounds of trouble.

 

It seems that he made it back without woe really. It was good of him to check, he doesn’t know why he expected anything untoward.

 

His hand is about to push the door open when his ears detect a hitch in breath. He stills. Pressing his ear against it instead. Sure enough, there were the trademark sounds of crying coming from within. His own heart aches with a pang. Thor’s never been able to hold his distress at the evidence of another’s, but he knows Loki enough that if he barges in, hugs and reassurances, that Loki would take it as the greatest injury of all.

 

So he slumps down at the doorway.

 

Waiting.

 

Wondering.

 

At how selfish he’s been and continues to be.

 

\---

 

The sobs give way to spent exhaustion eventually. Thor doesn’t know quite how long it’s been, but the torch light was low and the moon was starting on its descent.

 

He quietly enters and finds Loki deep asleep on his side of the bed, turned away from Thor as he is now. Thor goes around, careful. Concerned. The pillow was damp with tears, tracks drying on his cheeks. One arm was thrown over the edge of the bed while the other was clutched to the chest. A crumpled letter in his hand.

 

Thor takes it that the contents of such letter would be what caused his husband such sadness. He clenches his jaw and a muscle jumps. Who would dare?

 

He works the fingers loose, discovering that Loki is completely unresponsive, the scent of alcohol clung on him heavily like a blanket.

 

Being careful not to rip or damage the letter…

 

But then he hesitates. Nervous. What if it’s the evidence of a secret paramour? Thor might have to find and murder him in the aftermath, but then…to not know the name and suspect himself a cuckold throughout the remainder of this marriage.

 

Thor will not have it. And snatches.

 

His eyes track down to the end of the page first. It lands on Laufey’s signature.

 

Oh.

 

Well then.

 

Correspondences between family members were normal. He scans back up, actually letting himself read.

_Loki,_

_It’s come to my attention that you are not upholding your end of the bargain. While you might want to freeze the boy’s prick off, do so after conceiving. You hardly need a written lecture on the importance of this alliance, and really, what better could have been given had you stayed here?_

 

_We can only postpone any arrangements for visit home is what my advisor would tell you. Here are my own uncurated words: Don’t even think about it without evidence of our only hope for a tie to the house of Odin. Should you return without such…well, your own unhappy marriage will be the least of your worries._

 

_Perform your duties. Lie back and think of Jotunheim._

_Laufey_

The thought occurs to him that Loki was likely pushed into this arrangement as abruptly as he was. Without chance for retort and even less right to refuse. Then, without even having greeted each other for the first time, Loki had inferred the dishonor of his philandering ways. Having not been able to exercise any modicum of agency in the wider political sway of things, he had been shoved into the wedding hall and told to walk down the aisle. Say his pledges, and then to spread himself like a whore to be split open like a sow.

 

He lets the letter fall from his fingers.

 

Breathes deep.

 

What a botched mess this had all been.

 

Not for the first time does he wonder how their marriage may have been redeemed if he had not reacted so impulsively. Loki had every reason to be angry with him.

 

But the night was late for now. He resolves to speak plainly about matters tomorrow, humble himself. Apologize.

 

The emotional toil of the day bears down on him and he just wants to slip into bed and hold Loki close, nuzzle his face in his hair.

 

Was he going to leave Loki to fall asleep like that? He was still dressed in an evening gown. Loki tended to favor lighter clothing when he could, leading Thor to think that he does not enjoy being stifled by fabric. Might wake up uncomfortable if he sleeps like that.

 

That’s what Thor really needed. To make overtures to a cranky frost giant.

 

Conversations with Loki could already so easily slip off the precipice into disaster.

 

Gently, he handles Loki and strips him down. Perhaps only fumbling more than he should at how this is the most he’s been able to touch him in what was the first time without reprimand. Loki’s head leans against his shoulder. Thor cradles his hand on the back of his neck, working with the other to undo the fastenings. He slips the straps off the bare arms, passing by a gold armband that glinted in the light and softened the viewer’s gaze. With the upper half of the body freed, there is only one more motion of undress before Loki is completely bared.

 

His thoughts intrusively drift towards how he has never actually seen Loki’s androgynous sex. There were moments when Loki had stood nude in front of him, but only the male organ was in view, and for them, that is not the one of highest importance.

 

Thor just wants to look. What harm could there be? Loki would never know. Loki does not stir, even now.

 

With trepidation, and before he can talk himself out of it, Thor manoeuvres the last vestige of clothing away past the curve of his ass. He lays Loki on his back, head pillowed and figure centered. Those long legs are hooked over the bend of his elbow together. He brings his arm in retreat from under them, and they fall slack. From the knees, he feels his way up to the juncture of the thighs, follows the curve of it inward. He gulps. Pushes outwards until he sees the slit beneath.

 

Even with the dim lighting as outline for his sight, he whimpers.

 

There is not a hair to be found below and Loki is as smooth as a girl. That answered the juvenile questions he sometimes had at night – the ones he couldn’t help – when he hypothesized about, seeing as how Loki had no chest or facial hair either.

 

It’s such a beautiful shade of indigo too. But Loki was pink inside, like his tongue, and Thor’s trembling hands are going further that they should, braced both his thumbs beside the outer lips. He’s come this far, he has to know.

 

It’s like separating the cloves of a citrus. He does so in the same motion. Through the slit’s opening, he verifies that Loki is, indeed, the loveliest shade of fleshy rose, inner folds like unfurled petals. He keens a pathetic, desperate sound in the back of his throat.

 

The heady and sweet scent alone is enough to send his mind into a tailspin. And scent, so often, a prelude to taste. His cock has already hardened in the millisecond of reveal. His poor, neglected cock. He can tend to it later when he palms himself to sleep. He shall stop himself after a taste, will ferment a young distillation in the memory of it.

 

Like a dying man in need of water, Thor delves in with his tongue, getting deep as he can into the core and making sure to lick the sugar walls. Loki is being so compliant about the treatment. He hopes at least, in the depths of slumber, that Loki can be brought pleasure like this as well. He licks and sucks, savours and swallows. The texture is like silk, the viscosity like nectar. When the old deities threw orgies and talked of ambrosia as sustenance, was this what they meant?

 

Divine. Thor appreciates what it truly means to be a god.

 

It doesn’t take long before Loki’s fluids start to flow freely. It takes even less before Thor’s beard and the lower half of his face is drenched in stickiness. His tongue isn’t long enough to lick clean in places like his chin. His fingers can reach further than his tongue however, and he uses one to extract from deeper.

 

Odin’s eyepatch, it was tight.

 

His crotch pulses with the reflexive tactile knowledge. Thor recalls that he’s still dressed. What a pain it was to be clothed sometimes. He shoves off his pants and tossed aside his tunic. Shakes the hair out of his eyes and goes down on Loki’s cunt again.

 

With one hand he stretches Loki wider with his fingers, currently at two fingers inserted. With his other hand he strokes himself, careful not to bring himself off too soon. But it’s been so long. He surely has a formidable reservoir built up. No matter how often he found time to masturbate, it was never quite the same as the pressure of a willing hole.

 

There are squelching sounds and now there is simply too much to catch on the tongue. It slowly stains onto the sheets. He adds a third finger.

 

The information from the letter comes back to mind. “Loki, I can do this for both our sakes and the sake of our realms. We’ve tarried long enough with making the union official. I won’t take a consort and you won’t receive another. I promise to stay faithful from now on. Just…”

 

He brings himself up on his knees. His rigid cock feels like it could burst from the trial of the last two months. Three fingers as preparation will just have to be enough. Thor has been patient. There is plenty of natural lubrication to ease the way.

 

“Let me in. I can give you what you require.”

 

He lines up in front of those pretty lips. Loki remains inert, with the exception of the slobbering mess coming out of him below. Perhaps somewhere inside, when he had imagined having a fertility god as a husband, performing his wifely duties, Loki had longed for this too. Not that he would ever admit it, but his arousal doesn’t lie.

 

Thor guides his throbbing member in and pushes forward through the pressure that takes him like a vice. He groans in luxuriance. Making gains inch by inch. The last little bit, he thrusts forward sharply.

 

There’s the blood of deflowering, but it barely even shows against the mulled burgundy dress that Thor had stripped earlier, then bunched and stuffed under Loki’s hips. His head swims with the intoxication of the act as he sheaths himself fully.

 

Bliss.

 

He shudders at the sensation and holds it there instead of bucking. “You’re so good. Perfect even.” He relishes the tight heat.

 

Gives a few more ragged pants. Starts pumping.

 

When he was much younger and only beginning to think about sex, he had seen a litter of kittens from Freya’s collection when she visited Frigga. They cooed over the newborns. He recalls the mother being a mix of colors, and her little felines had solid shades representing the swath of her coat makeup, as well as a few variegated ones as well.

 

What would an offspring of mixed Aesir and Jotun blood look like? There was only one way to find out, and Thor was quickly reaching it.

 

“Laufey can rest assured that you will be with child.”

 

He pumps faster, going by his own rhythm. It breaks, running away from him, and he is spilling inside. This was how it should have been on their first night together.

 

But he is hardly done. Far from it. They have two month’s worth of copulation to make up for.

 

“I want you to grow fat with my seed.” He tilts those hips up, gripping firm that slender waist. Loki’s hair is a slight tangled halo around his head from the repeated rolling motions that drag him backwards and forwards. But he does not react still, eyes closed and peaceful.

 

“Let me do all the work of implanting.” He grunts, the last of his first orgasm releasing its spillage inside. His non-softening cock’s girth stuffs closed the entrance. By this night’s end, Loki’s womb will be swimming in it.

 

“You know what would impress Jotunheim as a first pregnancy?”

 

Loki waits on Thor’s answer.

 

“Twins.”

 

And he bucks in for a second round. It was too good to stop and he’s been assured Loki is fertile. Loki’s entire body reverberates from the impact of his thrusts, but the eyes stay closed, consciousness subdued. It was perhaps a little rueful. Thor would have wanted him willing and awake, responding to him, but who knows when that will ever be a possibility. Thor must take the interests of his own realm first and secure something so that both kings may be satisfied by the progress.

 

And perhaps, by the time Loki finds out he is with child, he may soften with motherhood.

 

His mind supplies him with the imagery of Loki needing assistance getting dressed, walking around. So heavy that his back hurts with the burden of carrying Thor’s brood and needing massages. Body preparing milk for hungry mouths, Thor’s among them.

 

He was already beautiful empty and waiting. He’d look even better marked and claimed. The next they visit Jotunheim together, or perhaps when Laufey is summoned to Asgard, Thor can demonstrate how well Loki has blessed their realms. It’ll be so inconvenient for Loki to be getting into shirts and robes by then, that Thor will give him an ermine fur coat to wrap himself in and nothing else.

 

Before he knows it, he’s come again. Twice is child's play though. For the burgeoning adolescent still toying, trying to figure out if he prefers his left hand or his right.

 

So he continues plowing bullishly. Pounding into Loki’s fine form. The finest. Perhaps even more so that Loki’s captivating exotic figure, he’s also grown an appreciation for Loki’s acerbic wit, even though so often it is directed against him. Despite being insulted at turns, or burned by his sarcasm, Thor sometimes wished he could better internalize the constructive criticism. He’s just so unused to the bluntness. It could be exasperating, but also tantalizing.

 

The tightness of that channel was a suction for more. Thor’s thoughts are a haze of lust and his head is thrown back, eyes closed, buttocks clenched. Thor increases his pace to frantic. Not once separating between to dislodge or re-position. They needed to keep it all inside. It’s too tight for him to feel anything like splashes, but with each successive round, Thor is able to ram faster and faster.

 

The night wears on and Thor wishes he could live it all over again. He seizes up in what is perhaps the last time. A certain depleted coiling in his belly a measure of his thorough exertion. Loki is lying prone with his ankles drawn up to his ears, feet tilted at the ceiling. There is such a sticky mess coating his ass and all of Thor’s thighs that they’ll simply have to discard the sheets and commission another dress of the same make.

 

Part of him believes that he is only this sordid tonight because of the dry spell period before. The other part of him believes that he won’t be able to help but remain this way for the rest of their time together.

 

He ruts, as lowly beasts do.

 

Thor comes for the final time with a guttural shout that he swears the guards on duty outside might hear. Well, tis only happy news to go running to the king and queen with.

 

He heaves, catching his own breath. Loathing the idea of needing to withdraw.

 

Or perhaps…

 

He rolls Loki on top of him, cunt still plugged by his cock, this way so that they don’t have to sleep on the cooling puddle of spend, and wraps his arms around his husband, broad chest supporting his head. Loki’s breaths tickle his hair there. He soothes Loki’s black tresses back into place, kisses his temple.

 

Like how it should have been from the beginning.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was in it for the kink, but gave myself a case of the sads. STILL CAKE THO.
> 
> Thor, you're going to wake up to Loki castrating you /o\\. ~~Nah, I'm kidding. That would be the highest sin. Yggdrasil would instantly burn and crumble.~~


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

It hurt.

 

That was all he knew. Waking up to the shrouded world again.

 

His mind was a fog, and he couldn’t pinpoint the source of it. Like a wounded creature, he couldn’t tell how long he’d been injured and whether it would stop. Though it was not the immediacy as a sharp stab of something violent and brusque, it did not ease any. He attempts to move his lead-laden limbs and curl inwards but finds himself locked in another’s hold.

 

Thor’s hold.

 

But Thor was not restraining him down or pinning him by the wrists. He was merely supporting them against each other, Loki on top and none the wiser for it. His eyes widen at the disconcertion and Thor brings up a hand to cup his cheek, seeming sad for the both of them. Loki clenches his eyes shut and squeezes for naught as his eyes have been wrung dry of more tears to summon.

 

“What has happened?” he rasps out, voice brittle and tremulous.

 

Thor simultaneously holds him together just as he had broken him in, croons and hushes at Loki like he is an infant. “You should have come to me earlier. I returned last night to see you in such sorrow. After seeing the contents of the letter…”

 

That’s—that’s right. Laufey’s letter. Had he…shown it to Thor? Or simply not been able to hide it in time?

 

“Loki,” Thor readdresses him, like one might do disappointedly, “matters that weigh heavy on you weigh heavy on me as well. We are married now. These are our shared burdens.” and begins petting his hair while Loki listens dumbly.

 

Thor continues talking, and thankfully, for the sake of Loki’s sanity, does so slowly and softly. “We compromised. You wanted to be able to visit Jotunheim again, so I granted the conditions that Laufey requires of you.”

 

He lets out a soundless sob at that. Disbelief. Even though the pain could mean nothing else. Searches Thor’s eyes desperately for a lie, anything that might betray vacant memory.

 

Yet Thor was regarding him with tenderness, a tenderness that baffled him. If he had—if he had been taken against his will last night, violated, surely…surely there would be some inkling of delayed guilt ranging to cruel apathy.

 

But as hard as Loki looked, there was not.

 

He must have not only humiliated himself with histrionics, but also conceded the only advantage he still leveraged in this arrangement. Ever since Laufey shoved the ceremonial garments his way and told him to proceed. Less than a fortnight later and he had been shoved out the palace doors.

 

Jotunheim had little for him, true, given his indifferent father, but Byleistr and Helbindi did not resent his birth the way Laufey did, and in them he had loved ones.

 

He did want to see them again, but even in this did Laufey dangle out of his reach. Though in the end his civil disobedience had been tempered. He can only conclude that he surrendered it foolishly and had lain still accepting it, but then what good was the resistance anyway? He had only made it harder for himself. Whatever wretched amusement he extorted from his promiscuous husband suddenly left a bitter aftertaste.

 

The insult was two-fold. His own father’s disregard and his fiancé’s disrespect. Loki was of royal blood still. With Laufey he could comprehend why he was unloved as much as Farbauti was loved, but with Thor… the snide sneers and giggling rumors from those who were in on the escapades, and more from those who wish they had been, those stung most of all.

 

For nothing. It had all been for nothing. Loki was so weary of being treated like a plaything. Now he is spent.

 

Thor watches him intently, the spectrum of emotions that had flashed and settled into acknowledgement in those eyes, and it brought him no pleasure to be the bearer of this news – but hard truths needed to be faced, and them being at an impasse did not help either of their positions.

 

Above all, Thor needed this. He needed the consummation, and on the horizon, an heir, to ignite the dry kindle of their marriage. He’d make it work, he knew he could. He just needed Loki to cooperate and biology to help them along.

 

Loki is looking fatigued and dejected. Thor offers reassuring words, “Let me take care of you. Of us.” His cock is still sheathed in that warm hole, steeping in the seed he planted. He’s been hard, resting there, ever since he woke up, and waited for Loki to stir as well. He starts to smoothly roll his hips again. A refresher was in order.

 

Loki tenses and flinches. His body had been so numbed that he had failed to realize…but what use was there now to refute. He is only glad that the movement of it is fluid. The wet, obscene sounds make him flush with embarrassment and he grinds his face into Thor’s chest to muffle his whimpers.

 

Thor goes slow and takes his time. The feeling is still exquisite. Loki is yet shy about intercourse, though he really needn’t be. “You were so good last night.” He praises, voice devout. He uncrosses his arms from Loki’s backside to stroke down his sides, seeking globes of flesh at the pert ass. Tips his head back and shuts his eyes, deepening the angle of his pumps.

 

Loki smiles mirthlessly. At least one of them was satisfied. Judging by Thor’s pleased reaction, he had probably been wanton and loud in his shamelessness, had spread his legs wider than a reeking slattern. None of the elegance and poise with which he carried himself as a prince would have carried over. The alcohol must have made him pliable and loose. That they were both drunken fools would not have bothered Loki so much if at least Thor was also too stupefied for remembrance, but no, Loki must fill in the details of his own defilement in their infinity. Imagination could be a cursed thing.

 

He tries to tamp it down. Thor’s thrusts rhythmically, perfunctory…practiced. At least he is not expected to do anything now. His mind would melt at the searing headache accompanying his burning backside, as well as the slow fire of mortification.

 

Then Thor’s pattern breaks, and Loki just let’s himself be carried away by it, fixates on the only fact that could not be ignored: thick squelching sounds that smacked in the space between Thor’s heavy balls and his splashing cunt. Thor’s breathing was labored. Loki held his.

 

He releases with a groan, strained himself with the last few spurts of his cock, ejaculating every drop of fresh seed to replace the old. If only the duties of a king could entail nothing but this. He slurs, “Aye, that’s good.”

 

Thor readjusts and lowers Loki to the side. Enveloping him in the post-coital bliss. His cock softens regretfully. Loki has not said a word. Thor kisses his temple. “I’ll have to leave you now,” indeed there are several meetings he’s already missed. Judging by the slant of the sun, it is near noon. He slips out and goes to open a window, airing the room.

 

Loki looks at his backside as he gets dressed. Thor pauses in thought while positioning his vambraces, wondering what to attend to first. He was feeling rather peckish after the deed. “Rest as required. I will see you in the evening at dinner.”

 

“Dearest.” He tacks on, thinking that the exchange sounded rather cold.

 

Loki turns his head away.

 

There really was very little one could do to nurse a hangover other than to allow it to pass. Thor leaves.

 

Only after an age does Loki move to feel himself down there, assess the damage. His fingers can barely find purchase on his entrance for the flood of viscous come pooling out of him. Cooling in its indifference.

 

\---

 

The water would have been hot to an Asgardian let alone a Jotun, but Loki sinks beneath it all the same, having selected the temperature. It nearly scalds him but he forces himself to stay submerged before his held breath runs out and he must resurface. He pushes aside his wet hair and rests his head back along the rim of the deep set marble, studying the gold patterned ceiling relief.

 

The drawn bath helps to alleviate the sensations on his body, quieting the ache from his spine and hips, to the burn along the inside of his thighs, between his delta, and the stiffness in his legs. He catalogues them mentally but found nothing out of the ordinary. He was not brutalized: there were no tears or signs of battery. Nothing evident still but the slight swelling in the sensitive pulsing sensation of his mound, having sheathed Thor’s not-inconsiderable cock all last night and morning.

 

When he contracts his abdominal muscles, traces of seed still cloud the water. He grimaces, thinking he had already carefully removed it all. What’s remaining must be planted deeper than his fingers can reach.

 

He gives up temporarily and returns to vacant contemplation.

 

The whorls and glint distract him for a time – what he wanted to be distracted from he wasn’t even sure however. In many ways he always thought his insubordination would have caused Thor to lose control eventually, but instead he had been the one to lose his faculties. Was he perhaps spared the experience of Thor’s drunken fumblings? Excused from his own embarrassing submission? Absolved from the knowledge of their coupling like animals? From the range of perfunctory to boorish, how vulgar must the copulation have been? The obscene evidence of their fluids was plain enough to see in the stark light of day once he forced himself to look.

 

Then he was left remaining with the physical discomfort – though it could not be said that there was more or less pain than could’ve been expected given the nature of the act – it was not half as bad as his oblivious memory.

 

Eyes open, he could focus on the gaudy ornamentation surrounding. Eyes closed, he saw…

 

A frigid fuck.

 

A convenient shag.

 

A desperate tumble.

 

A mewling quim.

 

Never before accused of being indecisive, he didn’t know which the worst was. Though his bartered virginity was only what everyone else around him valued, he had still been robbed of something he doesn’t know to give an identity to.

 

How did this make him any different from the parade of harlots who jumped Thor’s prick before him, smirking in his presence for any trickle of _his_ husband’s come that they must’ve kept clenched between their slattern cunts? He couldn’t snub Thor with his noncompliance; he’ll now be humiliated as the latest knocked up sow.

 

Perhaps it had no longer been his, the moment their realms decided to wed him to Thor, but he was the one to relinquish his body under his own personal terms. And maybe it was foolish even to think that holding onto the last shred of autonomy was within his rights, yet…

 

He pitches his face forward underwater, hugs his knees close, and screams.

 

\---

 

To Thor, the night couldn’t come quickly enough. It’s not until the supper feast do they see each other again. Loki is seated to his left, and he notices that Loki is as well put together as ever, though a little distant perhaps. He has been staring at the long tables all night, as if some forgotten hired night’s entertainment had yet to show.

 

Thor was hoping Loki might at least finish his meal before he made the announcement – oh but then their people would be so pleased. He couldn’t wait until Asgard saw Loki legitimized as his queen and consort. It was only the first step, but eventually, they would come to love and cherish him all the same, the future of his line tied with Jotunheim’s. An opportunity for enduring unity at last.

 

In but a few more moments will he be able to remove his adoring gaze to declare the glorious speech he’d been preparing all day. He hasn’t been this inspired about the future of their realms in a long time, and he will do right by them – to newer and better beginnings.

 

\---

 

Loki tried not to let his feelings of being reduced affect him when he attended dinner. He couldn’t be entirely sure of how successful he was however...the normalcy of the night’s order was unsettling. Everything had changed for Loki, but the banquet hall was dreadfully the same as last night, the night before, the night before that even, and all nights that preceded. How could he even sit here and not be disqualified from their plane of ordinary existence?

 

Volstagg tore the leg off a bird and made short work of the dark meat. Fandral was in polite conversation with Sif – perhaps the only woman in the realm he’d be wary of belittling with idle flirtations. Hogun was as Hogun would be, eating much in the same manner as his title description.

 

The king and queen were only presiding over the communal display of plenty – accustomed to their own affluence to the point of brisk boredom, eager to retire.

 

He himself only half-heartedly moved some items about his plate, barely eating any of it, and of course, he has not touched his drink all evening, though he merely opted for water when it was being poured.

 

Just as he had spurned their inattentiveness however, suddenly he finds himself in a state of unnerved anxiety for the heads that were turning to him one by one – their explicit scrutiny proving exponentially worse. His breath hitches at the silent panic that’s welling up in his throat before he realizes in time that it’s not him they’ve called their attention to – it’s Thor.

 

When had Thor stood up beside him?

 

Why was his goblet raised?

 

What was he clearing his throat for?

 

Loki watches like the rest, but unlike the others, does so in transfixed horror.

 

“To the citizens of Asgard, my brothers in arms, every golden soul on this realm.” He addresses.

 

Loki’s instincts are heading into a maelstrom of alarm with only his dismal sarcasm as weather vane in the wind. He grits his teeth, thinking that Thor won’t be done pitching his spiel to every knave and miscreant before he stabs a fork into his hand.

 

“You have all been witness to how marriage has made me a humble man.”

 

He would sooner split his own sides laughing were it not for the dread-induced paralysis holding him prisoner behind the bars of public propriety.

 

“Though humbler yet I can be made…in the arrival of an heir.”

 

Now Loki is silently pleading with his eyes for Thor to _look_ at him, and _notice_ the warning in them – at the same time he was beseeching himself that as little as he knew Thor still, that Thor couldn’t, _he wouldn’t--_

 

“Father, mother.”

 

Was that the clatter of Loki’s own cutlery or just the metallic demise of his sanity?

 

“We are expecting.”

 

Frigga’s hand flies up to her mouth in surprise, and then she’s excitedly patting Odin’s hand while the old man himself was jolted from weariness to raise one heavy white brow in astonishment. Following initial incredulity, the both of them become giddy in smiles – soon to be grandparents in their own eyes.

 

As for himself, Loki can no longer hear anything of what was coming out of Thor’s mouth. His ears are ringing with the thin shrill sound of white noise. The cheers go up and Loki’s reality folds in on itself as Thor pulls him to his feet and draws him towards by the waist, kissing him before the crowd.

 

\---

 

His blood seethes while his knuckles pale in the grip of his hand on the edge of the bedroom vanity. Half moon indents forced into the painted soft fir wood. He wants to lift the thing and hurl it at the wall. To think he had been in tears just yesterday, and now he is even more livid than when…than when…

 

His eyes are conveniently dyed the color of rage.

 

Thor is sauntering towards him with no sense of self-preservation and envelops him in a bearhug from behind. Loki tenses. He nuzzles his face at the nape of his neck. “I shall give orders for the renovations to begin tomorrow – we can convert the rooms nearest ours to a nursery.”

 

He grits out “What makes you so sure your seed has taken?” The _audacity_ of it. When they have not confirmed anything.

 

Thor’s arms slacken to move down sensually and splay his hands about his middle. “We have no reason not to think so,” and pecks Loki on the cheek. “But I will send Eir to attend to you each morning if you desire.”

 

He barks a dry laugh. “If _I_ desire…” in hushed disbelief. As if his husband has not just trapped him between royal expectation and public promise. As if such statements could just be _rescinded_. He cannot tell if Thor was really that assured of his own virility as to gamble it on _one_ night, or…

 

Thor’s hold from behind is suddenly too tight. He’s sorely underestimated the Odinson. If he fails to deliver an heir in only such a fleeting span of time, not only will there be no one to doubt Thor’s initial claims, the populace’s ire will be redirected at him. Twofold, for failing to provide, and then to be a scapegoat for his race…

 

He gasps. Thor misinterprets.

 

Loki can feel his husband’s erection straining against his backside. He swallows thick and murmurs into his hair “Though if you doubt, we can happily ensure…” one hand travelling down and underneath, tracing the line of his breached sex with two thick fingers through the fabric.

 

Loki shudders all over.

 

Thor seems to take that as permission. Loki doesn’t know how refusing might cost him. What was left to refuse anyway?

 

He shuffles them both against the edge of the table, one that was of a perfect height – and crowds Loki over with his weight. He hastily navigates the manifold layers and hurriedly bunches up the train of Loki’s frock around his waist before unlacing himself in record time, cock springing forth to nestle in the valley of his rear, hot and leaking.

 

He leans over to express softly “Allow me to show you again our last night’s pleasure.”

 

Loki’s grip falters on the edge, but he regains it with a muted vengeance. Such deemed _benevolence_.

 

Then his timbre becomes unsettlingly gentle. “Think of how proud Jotunheim will be. You can return amongst them the queen of future kings. To both realms.”

 

Loki tries to push back to get up, but his soft rump halts against the solid iron of Thor’s thighs. He doubts Thor even feels the struggle compared to the brute, coarse strength he wore no matter how many items of clothing he divested. He finally finds his tongue whilst his mind swims.

 

“What newfound kindness towards Jotunheim?” as sardonically as he can. Though he is undeniably as much constrained by his home realm as this one.

 

Thor lays a kiss on a spot off-centre, between his shoulder blades. “Perhaps we have regarded it as mere duty for too long. It could be so much more than that.” a little ruefully.

 

He reacts by baring his neck more than he should, those lips travelling up the revealed skin. He stubbornly retorts, “Wherefore this noble mindset previous?”

 

Was Thor really so taken by Jotun cunt as to finally play _gallant_? He bites his lip to prevent from laughing indignantly.

 

He will not be made a fool of again, even if his hand is being forced by the insistency of the throbbing cock waiting upon invitation.

 

Asgard needed and wanted an heir, that much was true. Loki would not and could not, in prizing his neck, allow for this marriage to be annulled. Frustration as stasis could only compensate for so long, and a child…a child he could use. It’d be his after all. A bride was princess for a day then queen for nine months, wasn’t that what they said? And Thor was not king yet.

 

No. This was not resignation.

 

Thor can have it his way for now.

 

“Then prove your declaration of intent, _husband_.” and goads as he only knows how. Fanning the flames of Thor’s desire to burn them both.

 

Thor pauses the way one does when unexpectedly granted their darkest wish, and fingers his wife’s slit to test the waters, to deem it safe before diving. The flesh there is so soft and pliant, he slips in without thought. Loki wriggles his bare ass in the air, bent over as he is, as mockery for Thor’s sudden apprehension. It wouldn’t do now to learn what so many before him realized when dealing with Loki, though surely, suspecting subconsciously. But right now Thor’s furious arousal was clouding his thoughts, and the lug groans as the head of his shaft slips in. By the sound of it, all realms of Yggdrasil’s and beyond, Thor will never become a straying man. He thrusts shallowly from behind, drawing it in and out on each push and pull, making slim but slick gains with each turn until the full length of it glistens. Loki’s rests his head on the wood top and breathes in controlled measures, the iris of his eyes blown wide and face further colored by the blush on his cheeks, matching the intensity of the plump lips taking him in below.

 

Not even a dozen complete rolls of his hips before Thor is spilling into his Jotun consort. It’s until the last twitch of his orgasm does Loki taunt “I should be concerned for our realm’s glorious futures if that is all you can muster.” though the amount was considerable.

 

Thor chuckles. He’s always liked those who can receive as much as he can give.

 

“Hardly, wife, but I’d hate to see any of it trickle down your long legs and go to waste with the effort of you standing.” Not that he was in danger of wilting, but the imagery maintains his rock-hard state. He lifts Loki up while he’s still plugged on his cock, his legs wrapping around Thor’s waist. They move to the bed and true to Loki’s spite as well as Thor’s arrogance, not a drop of it escapes.

 

Together they fall onto the pillows and sheets, locked together at the hips. Thor swallows Loki’s snarls, and Loki grinds himself on Thor’s unflagging cock. There’s no time for gentleness, each of them reminding the other through ruts and jerks.

 

Loki’s at least spared the platitudes and sentiment. Thor saves them for another night, the sight of Loki beneath leaves him bereft of words. Loki parts the angle of his legs too acutely for Thor, who takes each knee in hand and splits him wide. The newly replaced sheets become a ruin in a few short bouts.

 

Thor has had eager and covetous bedpartners before, but Loki receives him like wildfire consuming kindling, burning brighter into the still of the night even as the firelight sconces turned dimmer. It was exhilarating.

 

Love making was for the royally engaged who had been courting for years. Sexual intercourse was for the barely nubile child-bride given away in transactional matrimony. They are instead, both of them, formidable godlings in their own right, fucking with the effort it takes to produce another.

 

Yet despite their titles, he brings them down to the state of animals. Thor may have been the reputable Asgardian beast of endowment, but Loki has always been a snake with the appetite of a python, coiling himself about the instrument of power that his husband seems so willfully prepared to give him.

 

Thor thrusts repeatedly up against the sweet resistance that was his womb, draining himself for Loki. With each wrung orgasm drenching his walls, he feels himself becoming more drunk on the prospect.

 

This time Loki does not allow himself unawares.

 

This time Loki commits to memory.

 

This time Loki _takes_ , leaving crimson indents and red tracks down Thor’s back to make up for their initial absence. Thor has to wrest Loki’s climaxes from him until all that’s left is the overspill from a vessel that can take no more. He is finally squeezed dry, and never more glad.

 

When the two of them have no more stamina to speak of, Loki’s vision blurs, eyes greeting sleep with hesitance. Thor doesn’t bother pulling out before collapsing atop him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Loki is always one to work with what's on hand, and dammit he's been tasked to make bank from the citrus gods. Line up for the filth fest starts here.


	3. Chapter 3

Regardless of any realm’s riches, time is not a luxury afforded to even gods.

 

Only the Norns would see to that, and he does not know which side of the tragicomedy they intend for him. Either way, they only have so long before timelines and such come into play, and Thor’s bluff will potentially be called.

 

If not for their obligations as royalty, Loki would surely bleed inside his mouth by the effort of keeping his tongue still from mirth at the potential for mockery, but what good was laughter if he was sent home for it? Furthermore, what good was it to return home shamed? In all his time raised on Jotunheim, sometimes pride and grudge were all that lasted him.

 

May they serve him well yet.

 

Though…

 

Strangely enough, pride hardly seemed like a quality to crow about when he was on all fours in their bed, meeting his husband’s thrusts with the tilt of his hips. Grudge even less so when his face was flushed indigo, Thor leaning his head into the space of his shoulder, leaving rings of bite marks on his neck.

 

Some…sounds of encouragement may have been made.

 

The Odinson wasn’t completely talentless.

 

One hand teased his nipple while the other worked his leaking male organ, letting his thrusts from behind control the motion of his darkened, purple cock pumping in his passive fist.

 

He moans something obscene before gaining control of his voice. “F-faster you fool.”

 

Loki readjusts his weight to support himself on one arm and swats Thor’s hand away from his erection to hasten the action himself. Thor’s fingers find other purchase, travelling across navy skin. There are two irresistibly cute dimples below the flare of those hips, where Thor sets his both thumbs, and grips just below the waist. He groans and pushes deep to the root, pausing.

 

“I said fas—!!”

 

And then Thor cuts him off by ramming against him with renewed vigor. Loki’s words break into muffled whimpers, echoing off the walls of their bedroom at each bounce. Then he throws his head back as he comes, and the sound is one unbroken wail. Thor continues pounding against him following the aftershocks, until that warm passage is squeezing around his cock with such sweet convulsions.

 

He spills his thick load into Loki’s womb. Jolting his hips against the stickiness of sweat, skin, and seed.

 

When they disengage from each other, Loki shoves a pillow under his rear and thumbs the pages of a book reopen from where he left off. Thor thought they could personally improve on the pillow talk. He tries to make polite conversation. “What material is of such interest?” propping himself up on one side.

 

Thor makes it invitingly easy to taunt. “Baby names.”

 

Thor’s ears perks “Truly?”

 

Off the top of his head he rattles off an improvised list of names that are crude half and halves.

 

“Baldblindi.”

 

“Angrbodunn.”

 

“Farbautigga.”

 

“Ofey.”

 

“Laudin.”

 

“Lokor.”

 

They’re all hideous, but it forces a rich laugh from Thor when he realizes he’s been played. “Alright husband. You needn’t tell me if you don’t want to.” He supposes that asking whether Loki would be willing to read the text aloud would also go against his wishes. He’ll save it for another night then, so as to not be turned down twice.

 

He lies next to Loki in the nearest proximity without actually touching, and it’s enough.

 

He tells himself it’s enough.

 

\---

 

They are still a recently wedded pair. They represent power, peace, and the regal beauty of both. They couple frequently in the evenings as advisable, and stimulation, desire, release come easily. Thor should want for nothing, and yet.

 

Loki is oftentimes not without a cutting remark, but that’s part of the Jotun’s charm. So long as it comes from his mouth, in the voice that it does, Thor would gladly wait upon his word. On certain days, sometimes Loki is even in a pleasant mood to pay compliments. Or is it perhaps thinly veiled sarcasm? He can’t always be sure.

 

But his husband’s talents are that of deflection, and his easy manners betray that Loki is keeping Thor at a distance. There is a part of him that Thor cannot bear witness to, so ironically, it makes missionary the most awkward of positions.

 

Tonight he takes it slow. This is not the first round nor will it be the last.

 

Loki’s legs are hooked around his lower back, latched at the ankles. Thor’s can’t help tracing the line of his thighs with each thrust. With his expression glazed over, it’s not as if he could fault him for not making eye contact, for staring at the ceiling past his shoulder.

 

Instead, Thor surveys other details. Like the dark pupil of his eyes nearing overtaking its ruby iris. Like the soft hitch of breath whenever Thor’s cock pierces him at the right angle. Like the tiny discovery that Jotun’s can in fact, sweat – but it’s never been anything more than a subtle misted sheen compared to Thor’s regular state of exertion.

 

Small discoveries of delight that he catalogues closely. Possessively.

 

He has always believed himself to be a benevolent lover. Pleasure chasing a sport, hobby, and passion. His previous partners and parties had always been the envy of any self-respecting reveller. But upon their marriage bed, none of his previous conquests seemed to matter.

 

They have…he swallows.

 

They have never kissed while being intimate.

 

He wonders, with not a little bit of inward exasperation, how they are supposed to love each other like this. How it is he cannot conceal that he has begun to without reciprocation. It stirs something in his heart darker than desire. Fascination.

 

But he hangs his head in momentary personal failure.

 

An heir first.

 

And love would follow.

 

When he comes, he realizes he has begun to tire.

 

\---

 

All in all, his husband is not unnecessarily untoward. Loki is able to stand him better when they are alone. His is a face and figure unmatched even if Loki is not tripping over his feet to fall into bed. But as those hands encircle his waist to pull him forward upon each pump, he is only compelled by the necessity of the action, and gratification as byproduct.

 

Their breathing is a ragged on and Loki throws his arm over his head, hair a tangle on the pillow, and head bobbing worryingly close to the headboard.

 

His cock is numb from the previous release, and they have been at this frequently enough now that Loki learns his cock’s refractory periods flag longer than his cunt’s, though it is the easier of the two.

 

It was more relaxing to be on his back with his husband doing all the work. He feels the old semen leak out and flow down his ass as Thor works perseveringly to fill him anew.

 

They attend to their conjugal duties nicely.

 

It’s nothing to feel guilty over that Thor is putting in all the effort in the initial phase of things. Child bearing, and all that it entails, will fall on him in the months to come, so it’s only fair that Thor work overtime for the most pleasurable part.

 

Every evening, their chambers stink of sex. The air is humid with it. Every day, the servants do their part to clean up after them. It doesn’t change the fact that sex is more duty than delight.

 

Inwardly he laughs. Wonders if his next letter home will carry with it the same stench.

 

Nonetheless, his thoughts swim and his head is hazy from the animal action of copulation. The inarticulate sounds falling from his mouth are those of his voice: soft moans and wet whines. Titles and rank meaning nothing. He has been reduced.

 

His cock twitches in response again. His cunt splashes greedily in reply.

 

He doesn’t dread, which is a significant improvement. Sometimes there is still pain, but it is near drug laced with pleasure. Thor lays kisses on his chest and neck, and never braving above that.

 

His rhythm breaks and Loki senses that he is near to completion. He clenches his muscles to hurry the action along, desperate for his own reasons for hastened humps. A muscle jumps in Thor’s neck.

 

Hot seed jets into him in pulses. Loki’s walls throb around the blood-filled organ.

 

He wants to look away.

 

When Thor searches his eyes in a moment of ecstasy, the question lies unbidden on his tongue _‘What more do you want from me?’_

 

\---

 

In the morning, Thor dresses in practiced motions without any of the grace. He’s nervous, as he should. As is Loki.

 

Loki dresses lightly, simply. He’ll have to get undressed again anyhow.

 

He is to be inspected by Eir. Their time is up.

 

If Thor’s seed has not taken then there will be reason to suspect something is wrong, and the fault is not Loki’s, but it will be directed at him to save face for Asgard.

 

Thor ties his boots and clears his throat. “Do you—would you like me to accompany you?”

 

“No.”

 

It comes out straightforward and plain like a tired slap to the face.

 

He frowns but does not press for a reason. “I shall be in a meeting with my father’s council…should you wish to find me afterwards.”

 

Thor waits a few beats as if to hear confirmation on whether he will seek him out afterwards at all. Whatever the result may be. Loki doesn’t answer him except to look occupied by decorating a band of gold on his horns.

 

No longer wanting to find balance on the space of awkwardness, Thor finally leaves.

 

The previous night they had gone at it like rabbits. Loki thinks Thor probably tried to get another round in as he was drifting asleep. Is he tired? Should he be? He feels it.

 

He’d decided on white. Patients wear white. It is the color of chastity, purity, virgins: all things he is not.

 

But he doesn’t care to change and so he rises, taking his time walking down the hall. An overcast day. Had there not been a decent amount of sun earlier?

 

The healing rooms are near the gardens – situated where it’s quiet and peaceful. Angroboda’s third tit. Is he to be an invalid or pregnant? The closer he gets the greater his irritation.

 

When he finally arrives, he wants it over with enough to not hesitate at the doors.  

 

“Ah, my prince.” she greeted expectantly.

 

She narrows her gaze as if she could scan his uterus and see through tissue to diagnose him. It’s clinically piercing and he stays very still. Eir of course, has reason to be suspicious with them. There was no formal consultation with the head medic of the palace before Thor blared his announcement to the realm – a move that was reckless folly.

 

But she snaps out of her scrutiny and gestures him to the near bed. He strips and lies down. His hands are steady, if not a little rigid.

 

It will be quick. The sentence and the consequence.

 

She places her palm flat on his pelvis and mutters a spell.

 

And then releases it just as quickly.

 

“Oh yes. You most certainly are.”

 

Loki appreciates the bluntness, but for a moment he doesn’t react. The words just wash over him like water.

 

“I mean,” and then she bows “congratulations your majesty.”

 

He tries not to grimace.

 

“How long…?”

 

“Considering how the egg is already well established in the lining of your womb, implantation was very successful, and in a good region. Early complications should not be an issue. So three weeks to a month, perhaps?”

 

His husband is virile. It would’ve been close to the first night, if not near enough to be practically indistinguishable.

 

“Oh.” Loki states, putting his arms through the sleeves of his clothing.

 

“It should be quite stable, and you are in good hands. If you and your majesty wish to continue such bed plays, it is permissible, though I wouldn’t recommend anything too wild.” She shrugs with both eyebrows raised. After all, knowing his luck, Thor’s spawn is probably as tenacious as frost in Jotunheim.

 

“I will prescribe a diet to the kitchens that will strengthen the development of you and the babe. Morning sickness can be mitigated here if no where else, and should you have any cravings, don’t refrain from them. Because of your Jotun heritage, your tastes may vary from most Asgardian women. No alcohol however.”

 

That shouldn’t be a problem. He hasn’t since the lesson that drink makes him stupid.

 

Eir continues speaking, but the most immediately important points are covered. As he gets ready to leave, she beams at him, saying she was confident in her millennia of experience, that this will be a most robust pregnancy.

 

He almost forgets to thank her as he leaves. Pregnant. The word keeps echoing in his mind, dividing on each bounce against his skull, multiplying and dividing, like the ball of cells within him, until all that is in his head is repetition.

 

Pregnant.

 

Pregnant.

 

Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.

 

His feet lead him to Thor’s council rooms without him intending it.

 

He seldom has reason to be here, and his expression communicates something serious enough that he does not need to raise his voice to dismiss the old politicians from the room. They leave in a hurry and close the door behind them. Thor rushes to his side, trying to read him.

 

All he is, is tired.

 

And pregnant.

 

“I’m pregnant.”

 

He says it as if it has lost all meaning. Only it is anything but. And Thor’s face breaks into the widest smile. He takes him in his arms and spins him around in his excitement. Loki should be celebrating too. Thor gets down on his knees and kisses both his hands before hugging him around his middle. He nuzzles his face gently against Loki’s stomach. Kissing there too.

 

He is sincerely happy.

 

“Anything you want. I’ll take the rest of the day’s duties off. We should do something to celebrate.” _For real this time._

 

Loki looks down at how Thor is peering up at him, like he is the most glorious being beheld. None of it makes any sense to him…and he is pregnant. “I—”

 

“I’m tired.”

 

In one swift motion, Thor has swept him off his feet and into his arms. Chuckling at Loki’s surprise. He takes them back to their chambers. It is now a clear and radiant day in Asgard.

 

He orders the servants to bring trays of food from the kitchen – a little bit of everything. It is a private feast for two. Three? Does the embryo count yet? Either way, Thor presses that he must start eating for both mother and child.

 

They spend the rest of the day together, in marital bliss. At night, Thor tells Loki to lie down and enjoy as he pleasures him for hours, alternating between cock and cunt. Drinking him down and eating him out. The bedsheets are twisted into a frenzied state.

 

And it’s good. As Loki writhes underneath him. It’s good.

 

Relief felt good.

 

He grips two handfuls of blond hair and shoves him in deeper. Shouting and sobbing as he crests.

 

\---

 

The next morning, Loki studies himself in the mirror, wondering if he can spot any changes, though the timing is unlikely. Rather, he should enjoy what time is left to still feel himself, before his body is altered in ways that it may not revert from.

 

He pauses above the navel. Trying to feel anything.

 

It is there, it must be, and the news has had a day to settle. Yet he is…unmoved at the prospect of motherhood itself. For all the importance there was to this pregnancy, the realms may as well have told him to conjure a sceptre and orb from his birthing canal rather than a real child.

 

Though that child will one day bear the crown.

 

But not before his father.

 

Thor lumbers out of bed, rubbing his bleary eyes. He smiles at him and embraces Loki from behind, eyeing the position of where his hand is as well. He grazes the soft down of Loki’s belly and looks smitten with the possibilities.

 

He kisses his cheek. Mumbles about breakfast in bed. “If you are feeling cravings yet, I’d rather indulge you now.”

 

Cravings…

 

Perhaps he was feeling a little peckish after all.

 

But he was Jotun, his tastes are a tad…

 

“Husband, would you join me for a hunt?”

 

It is not the reply Thor was prepared for, catching him off guard. He gives it consideration. “You are in a precious state more than ever. I would not want you to risk anything with the motions of riding horseback.”

 

It is a very gracious answer but Loki is bloodthirsty.

 

“Will you hunt on my behalf then?”

 

Thor cannot say no.

 

\---

 

Thor rides out into the forest grounds while Loki has been set up under a silk canopy. Waiting. In the meantime, he has called for a desk and parchment, quill and ink. Posed on his side upon a recliner, he pens another letter to Jotunheim. Every so often, birds will scatter from the canopies and Loki will smile upon the next chosen words.

 

The day was gorgeously balmy. He folds the completed letter, seals it in wax, before handing it off to be delivered. Surrounding him are golden trays of exotic fruits and pastry desserts. He has not touched the food, though he is enjoying everything else about today.

 

The color of the sky is near to turning until a pack of hunting dogs return from the forest edge, running up to their hound masters to be taken back. A fresh meal of blood and bits of meat dangling from their jaws. Eventually, Thor himself approaches, the body of a magnificent stag over his shoulders. His horse walking alongside.

 

Loki smiles.

 

He lays it on the ground before Loki to admire. A prince of the forest for a prince of Jotunheim, by the prince of Asgard. It is only fitting and Loki is pleased.

 

He straightens his back, pleased with the kill. “I will send it off to the kitchens and we shall have a—”

 

“No need.”

 

Thor looks at him, quizzical, while Loki looks at the slain beast.

 

It was a regal creature. The size of the antlers fit for a king, spanning ten feet from tip to tip. He sees something of Thor in between the dead and sticky eyes before tearing into the flesh with his bare hands. Loki is no fey elf, and it would do best for those watching in mortification, to remember what he was.

 

Works past ribcage, navigates between bone – until he finds the heart.

 

Warm still.

 

He tears out the organ and savours the fresh iron as blood gushes. He is famished. The muscle is tough, and strings of sinew pull taut as he gorges. Those dead eyes have the audacity to look sad, but Loki doesn’t mind.

 

As he finishes, he licks the gore off his fingers and smacks his lips. Says “Thank you.”

 

And returns to the palace alone.

 

\---

 

Dinner finds him in a disquieting mood. Thor has taken to talking with his friends.

 

Loki nurses his goblet of warm milk and honey, with extract of Idunn’s apples. Grins thin lipped to himself. When their side of the table looks over at him, he realizes he is laughing, and waves it off as compliment at Fandral’s joke.

 

Nevermind that Fandral was not the one speaking.

 

\---

 

Loki removes his jewelry and puts on a nightgown. Thor is shirtless but keeps on pair of sleep shorts. Loki leans into his space and teases at the valley between pectoral muscles. “Have you had your fill? I noticed you did not eat much at the dinner table.”

 

He crosses the other side and settles into bed. 

 

“I’m afraid perhaps my tastes have shifted. The dishes did not appeal as they ought to have.” He eyes Thor off to the side, perching an inter-realm bestiary on his knee. “The hart’s heart was delicious of course. I shalln’t go hungry.”

 

Thor’s gaze softens “We could take a respite to the woods. There is even better game in the mountains. A cabin could easily be commissioned. The alpine air might be more like Jotunheim’s clime. I would hunt for you every day.”

 

Loki draws out a _‘Hm.’_ delicately spun, enjoying how in this moment, Thor is so willing to wait on him.

 

“I think,” his hand moves over his belly “I would like this child to be nurtured in the tradition of Jotunheim’s kings. Asgard’s game might not be enough. After all, this babe is to be the peace-bearer of two realms, it should have the best of any before it.”

 

Eager to please, “What traditions have produced Jotunheim’s kings?”

 

Loki smiles, “Sires have brought down great monsters of legend as offerings to their dams, as proof of their might and their ability to provide. I was just thinking on such a creature befitting enough for the honor as to be felled by your hand.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Now he’s speaking Thor’s language. Nothing quite like the title seeker’s love of questing to remove them from the picture while Loki plays domestic.

 

“Muspelheim waged war against us once and Surtur had at his beck and call a colossal dragon that scarred our realm’s landscape to this day. Last I heard it resides deep within the volcanic region of that realm, and slumbers in magma until its master regains his powers.”

 

Thor seems rapt, like a little boy thinking of glory instead of incineration.

 

“I would have its heart, as well as its head.”

 

His husband is enticed by the sense of adventure, but of course, that it would take him away from here for an indefinite amount of time gives him pause. His eyes rove to land on Loki’s hand, and he places his own atop. “Will this please you? Would it sate the babe? This is not some old wives’ tale?”

 

Loki’s eyes gleam. “Yes, yes I’m sure.” He nuzzles close to rest his head against Thor’s shoulder. “The line of Jotunheim’s kings have produced the most powerful lineage. It cannot be coincidence. For father is as mighty as a mountain and commands the same fearsomeness.”

 

Thor’s arm reaches around and brings Loki as close as can be held. “Alright then. For you I’ll set off tomorrow morn. My father never did like Surtur anyhow.”

 

Loki is practically giddy, but he plays it straight. “Oh. I really am the most fortunate mother in the Nine.” talking in tones of sweet sotto voce. A man of Thor’s type likes to be reminded of how manly he is sometimes.

 

He can’t help the swelling feeling of affection in being trusted with such a duty. This is maybe the most Loki has ever revealed about himself and his earnest desires to Thor, and thus if it is in his powers, Thor will grant whatever Loki wishes.

 

He strokes Loki’s hair and enjoys the time they spend this night. Unsure of how soon the next one will be.

 

\---

 

By daylight, the sun casts its rays against Thor’s armored back, gleaming off the silver scales over his arms. It scatters and scintillates along the walls with movement, and Loki regards him with greater appreciation: his husband is handsome in a way that he will miss.

 

The twinge is not guilt.

 

He gently lifts the winged helmet and carries it over. Thor smiles, perhaps a little cocksure. He would rather not say goodbye, instead “See you soon.”

 

In a strange instance of intimacy, Loki’s hands trace the sides of Thor’s face and eases the stray strands of hair back, adorns the helmet on, and tucks any others tidy after the act. Their faces are very close. Too close.

 

But Loki is the only one leaning towards him.

 

Thor is shocked into stillness.

 

Had he touched his lips to his? He can’t even remember other than the suggestive ghost of contact that was perhaps more question than reality.

 

He finds himself at a loss for words.

 

The kind of stock, simpering, sentiments that those departing should say.

 

“And another upon your safe return.”

 

Thor’s hand rose to clasp his neck, and he is searching. Always searching. Loki wonders if he can see of himself what Thor sees when he looks at him – reflected in those eyes.

 

Thor returns a kiss on his forehead at the last moment, after whatever war he waged within himself. Then he pushes Loki away gently and leaves with a sweep of his cape. That cardinal color attracting the eye from afar as Loki watches from the window, Thor riding off towards the Bifrost.

 

A flash of prismatic power and then Thor is finally gone.

 

And Loki can finally be left alone to his thoughts. To his schemes.

 

Because with any luck, Thor will not return, and his last words can be ones of a condemned man’s solace instead of promise. The so-called tradition was fictitious, though the dragon’s danger was not. Muspelheim is as good as any place to find the entrance to Valhalla. Then the future of the child, their child…

 

Do all women suddenly take to stroking their bellies once they can expect?

 

“Grow strong and assured. I will position you next in line to be king, and alongside you as mother, your regent.”

 

He smirks to himself. Goes through all the routines of the morning: dresses in bold and rich colors; the most expensive jewels he owes permissible for the very ordinary occasion. Nothing modest for today: he’s feeling celebratory.

 

Then, he explores the palace at his own leisure. Surveying the beauty of golden halls. All that could be his.

 

Pausing at the throne room, watching the Allfather attend court, contemplating how he would see fit to run it himself. After, as he pays his respects to the Queen, he listens with greater attentiveness on the roles of a mother, determined to do so better.

 

The corner of his lips curl from behind the teacup. To be sure, he never hated Thor, but his husband was not his by choice, and the performative emotional labour of love, his husband’s longing… Thor did not understand him, yet he wanted to. More than anything that was what Loki couldn’t give.

 

He enjoyed his solitude. So few ever understood what it meant to be Laufey’s runt.

 

If Thor knew…it would only frighten him.

 

It was a doomed match to begin with. Only Loki knew his own twisted nature.

 

Then in time, gradually, after whatever length of pretend mourning, the decision to choose another husband would be in his hands.

 

At night, as he lounges in their bed, Loki fantasizes about the selection.

 

He entertains the thought of inviting the guard into these chambers, the one that he’s seen stealing glances. His ranking was high enough that he should be afraid to lose it if he cannot keep a secret. Loki has never heard him talk but wonders at how he’d implore the graces of his queen.

 

_How it is such a pity that their majesty was to be widowed so young._

 

Those hands that held a spear at duty would surely be glad to hold his spear at service. The folds of his sex are slick with need. Loki gasps into the pillows.  

 

And if he weren’t in a mood for a partner who was so serious… well, he could always make eyes at the young and brash stable boy. Dark haired and tanned, and preferably hung like a horse.

 

_Would your highness like someone to accompany you on your riding trip?_

 

In public he’d have no choice but to look down on him, but at night, while illicitly rolling in the hay, Loki would be put in his place and speared on his back. The padlock firmly in place to prevent anyone from finding them.

 

It was absurdly easy to fit three of his fingers in. Each of them leaving with slippery strings that he admires in the light. How quickly he drenched his own hand…the way it ran down his wrist. His breaths are shallow and rushed in disbelief.

 

But such a partner would only be good for size. What if Loki wanted someone to match wits with?

 

Surely not all politicians were old and withering. Often they were the dirtiest of the lot, corrupt in ways that extended beyond policy. That included politicians of all races, not just Asgardian, and in places that were not the boardroom but the bedroom.

 

_And how would the queen of Asgard like to unite such an alliance?_

 

Realms he’d never travelled to. Foreign genitalia. Who said you couldn’t be productive while also being pleasured? As if Loki would ever let limited imagination deter him.

 

They would all be the ones to court him, competing for Asgard’s support. Bribes and treaties as good as a bouquet or chocolates. He needn’t be in a hurry to settle down so soon either. One must be prepared to weigh all the advantages of every possibility.

 

He lifts his hips higher and tries to reach as deep as he can. His muscles strain for something thicker and heavier, but there is no one. He sent him away. As far flung as could be without being Jotunheim at the opposite end of the world tree.

 

Eventually he gives up attempting to be discrete and just huffs a spell to mute all sound beyond these rooms. He moans freely and filthy.

 

That the bed is too sprawling and large with him the only occupant…

 

His cries ring as if from a rupture.

 

And he drifts along its orgiastic aftershocks.

 

Conscious thought is washed away in bodily sensation. Until he is numb.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the agonizing update schedule. May you consider the chapter worthwhile 🙏. Taking guesses now for how everything will play out!

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow at my [tumblr](https://summertudinal.tumblr.com) or (more often) [twitter](https://twitter.com/Estivate9) where I am always filthy on main. (ᅌᴗᅌ* )


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